


Curiosity Cabinet

by rin0rourke



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, M/M, Sexual Content, Thief AU, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rin0rourke/pseuds/rin0rourke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen is known as the Pierrot; dressed as a classic whiteface he travels the world stealing ancient artifacts from private collectors and museums, returning them to their proper owners. </p><p>Kanda is a mercenary, angry that for the past two months his employment has been to guard the collection of a wealthy explorer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was far from young, midnight long since kissed goodbye and reputable establishments safely tucked to sleep in their window gates and security system protected buildings, now even the bars and clubs gave little yawns and rubbed sleepy eyes. People wandered out into the streets, bouncers tossed the drunks and piled those with money left in their pockets into waiting cabs.

The world, for a few hours, would soon be at true rest.

 A sign for a sex club flashed on and off, well-endowed women painted across the bill advertising all the wares they offered, the light spilled movie fake blood red into the night, licked up and across a body, reflected on the metallic gleam of a mask, and blinked back into darkness. In the deep shadows of that drowsy neon and darkened windows slipped the careful, the predatory.

The Pierrot slipped with great ease through the streets, as he had done several nights prior, as he had done for the past few weeks. The buildings were closed in, several stories tall and in each other's pockets, little side alleys all but nonexistent. He memorized the clockwork of each business, gears turning, mechanisms ever moving. This street has garbage pickup on Tuesday, this store had deliveries at 9am on Thursdays, this bar closes at 2 but doesn't shut everything off until 4, this restaurant is a front for a suprisingly lucrative drug bussiness for it's small size. He moves by them in quick, silent steps. 

A quaint little liquor store with ugly off pink plaster cracked and peeling away from the beautiful red brick of the original building affords him the perfect handholds to quickly scale a wall, ten feet up and the bottom rung of a fire escape is just a quick hop and midair twist across the tiny alley.

Nothing to see here folks, just your average urban runner in a flashy costume and harlequin mask.

Up up up the skinny little structure, the owners of the antique store have a one bedroom apartment just above, so careful careful around the windows. Then from the top of the store he gets a good workout moving on to the next buildings. Most of them are side by side, great for jumping from rooftops, no alleyways, no open spaces, just a quick climb when the next building has a few extra floors to it.

Of course it would be worlds easier on him to begin with if the damn buildings surrounding his job had the alleyways, then he could have scaled the walls closer and wouldn't have to make this little early morning jog.

Ah well, no complaints. He needed the exercise. Those three weeks recovering in Maui from his last job left him just a little out of shape.

And his shoulder still ached some.

Shock absorbers in his boots took the force of his landing as he hopped a good few feet to the building directly adjacent this night's objective.

A quick cool down stretch gave him time to assess his surroundings.

Security down below was deceptively lax, such perfectly manicured lawns and landscaped gardens would never be forced to endure the strain of a set of guard dogs, and the uptight perfectionist of an inhabitant would never trust just anyone to prowl the grounds, stomping around in thick soled shoes and scratching their butts, waiting often uselessly for some kind of action. 

So of course the only thing left would be electronic, as security of the flesh and blood variety would be confined to the general area of his quarry.

What a cutie. His little guard dog was strictly an indoor pooch. 

Pressing a switch on the side of his mask zoomed in on the location of one of the little cameras he would receive most of the trouble the next few nights. This particular camera was a teasing little add on, tightening what would have been a lovely blind spot.

Cover your bases.

Unfortunately for that charmer of a foe of his, his iron fisted control over his home would be working against him. Not tonight, unfortunately, but soon.

 ** _"Allen, you have got to be careful tonight, we know barely anything about this guard he's hired_**."

The bug in his ear was buzzing again.

"That's why we're doing this little test run. Test things out a bit, peep in like a Tom."

 ** _"Allen, please tell me you are not going after the weak camera. You know he'll be paying extra attention to it. He'll know as soon as it's down_**."

"Spoilsport."

 ** _"Allen!_** "

He let the visuals zoom back out. "Well, gee Johnny, I guess I'll just hop the gate and knock."

 ** _"Or you can use the cloak I made for you._** "

"I'm saving that. Shush. I'll use it eventually."

" ** _And we can use the weak link eventually." His ever helpful companion informed him. "So yes, go on in and knock."_**

"I repeat, spoilsport."

This two story building, a law office if he remembered correctly, and sometimes he didn't he could admit that, was three meters lower than the crown of the residential he wanted to be on top of, but he could work with that.

**_"You need me to run you through the security again?"_ **

"Johnny, how long have you been working for me?"

**_"Long enough to know how bad you are with directions."_ **

He hung his head mockingly even if Johnny couldn't see him. "Okay, my trusted partner and dear friend, run our risks by me again. In the hope that this time I may retain something of this conversation."

" ** _Okay, on the ground are multi crossing single beam photoelectric detectors, they run at a hundred and fifty meter range and consist of multiple surface mounts in the DS415i and DS435i series, you should be most familiar with them since its a popular system_**."

"Friction lock optics, alarm transmission and memory, separate transmitters and receivers, and a partridge in a pear tree."

" ** _And Inhibit wiring._** "

"And inhibit wiring, yes, how could I forget the inhibit wiring." He rolled his eyes. "What is inhibit wiring anyway? I never understood that term."

" ** _And you call yourself a thief, moving on."_**

"No, Johnny I really want to know."

" ** _Vocab lesson later. Now the camera is a FLEXIDOME HD 1080p Day/Night IP 2 MP …"_**

"Wait, we weren't finished with the laser beams."

" ** _If the beam is broken it signals an alarm. Classic movie cliche. You know this. Stop joking around."_**

"You're the one who wanted to run through this again."

" ** _The CAMERA, offering such great things as excellent low light imaging and color reproduction and ultra-wide-angle lenses._** "

"Surounded by a stylishly tinted vandal-resistant IP 66/NEMA-4X-rated dome," Allen was a big fan.

" ** _Which is suitable in extreme weather conditions and temperatures. All telephoto recording is enabled with a Micro SDXC card cable of up to 2 TB of local storage, additionally Intelligent Video Analysis would flag alarm events on screen._**

"To best ensure observers never miss a single moment of action. You know, I would credit good taste to our would-be-opponent, if the equipment package hadn't won Product of the Year in several security consulting firms. Personally I prefer something a little classier."

" ** _He uses the DS433i inside."_**

"And won't that be a joy." Allen loved it enough to own it, but damned if he liked facing off with the things. "We won't be opening any windows today, so I fail to see why I should be listening to your techno speech, not that it isn't fascinating of course."

" ** _Of course. Allen, I honestly kind of miss when you were polite with me."_**

He laughed a little. "You were the one who wanted me to be more comfortable around you."

" ** _I didn't realize you'd be a dick."_**

"Poor planning on your part." Allen indulged in a lazy streatch. "So, what's this plan, oh fearless leader?"

" ** _Get on the roof without tripping the alarms."_**

"I love it when you plot everything out so thoroughly. Very detail oriented."

" ** _You wouldn't follow any plan I made."_**

"There is that. Yes."

The best thing, in Allen's mind, about wireless transmitters is how quickly people felt more empowered by having the whole thing hooked up directly to their phone; and for a high minded tight assed man as who they would go head to head with, the option of rigging everything up to his personal mobile, bypassing any police interference and the likelihood of strangers breaking down his door with guns because a stray cat set off a sensor, would simply be too much of a temptation.

So even though the cameras would see him make his stylish and theatrical assent to the crest of the edifice, the entire affair relied on whether or not the man had his phone on, had signal, was willing to answer it, and could sound the alarm to alert his security in time to catch him.

Seeing as how the stuffy old fool was at a fancy opera, Allen placed his bets on a decent couple minutes of snooping. 

He just wanted to get a lookie see on who the lucky boy he would be quarreling with was. He liked to at least have some idea of who he was up against before he went in, though only one? Insulting. The information on him was terribly lax, all he knew was that it was some expensive low profile mercenary of Asian descent, not even which kind of Asian, just stupid description of slanted eyes. And who trusted an informant who counldn't tell one nationality from the next? Not him, not since someone accused him of being Australian.

Puh-leeze

Allen lay on his belly looking over the ledge and through the skylight with his corner cam. He admired the homey little room, rich in colors and textures. The thick rugs that cushioned beneath stepping feet, the silk papered walls, the cherrywood cabinets with their protective glass polished to near invisibility.

And there he was, the little guard dog, though little was hardly an appropriate term, all locked up indoors and pacing irritable tracks in the expensive woven rugs.

Since his scar had hit all skin and not the more precious organ underneath and thus he was not currently half blind, he admired that too.

" ** _What's the assensment?"_**

"Tall, leggy, with broad shoulders and miles of hair. Can I keep him?"

" ** _I thought you were SO sure he was going to be this really ugly scarred middle aged guy with a receding hairline and more muscles than brains."_**

"I have since reevaluated my stereotypical assumption of mercenaries. He is hot. I bet he tries to kick my ass."

" ** _Please don't play with him Allen, you just got back. Think of the target! The mission Allen, the mission._** "

"Oh, I know, I won't do anything rash. It just feels like such a wasted opportunity." Damn torn ligaments, damn Tyki for that. 

" ** _Okay, the alarm is going to be sounding soon. You got a peek at him, and now you can go home and rest and we can do everything we planned next week. Okay?_** "

"Yes, yes Johnny. I'm heading back." Allen stood, and giving one last glance at the skylight, took his running start off the building.

He got to the ledge when a blast split his eardrums and concrete shattered at his feet.

"Move, and the next one goes in your kneecap." He stood, still as death, thinking only: 'shit!' "I'd prefer to put one in your head and be done with it, but my employer wants you alive. Typical villain tirade, I'm sure you're used to it in your line of work." Footsteps, careful, well placed. "Put your hands up slowly, and turn around. You pull anything, you'll find yourself with one less functioning lung."


	2. All Around The Mulberry Bush

He had to time this right.

Sounded like there was only one of him, which meant no matter how experienced a gunmen he was the man would have to break the arms reach rule if he wanted to subdue and bind his captive.

Was it the guard? How had he gotten on the roof so fast? He had only just seen the man down in the collection room before he sprinted off.

"So, I'm guessing you would be my opponent this evening?" Allen asked pleasantly, placing his hands above his head and turning slowly. He gave that charming smile of his a little room on his face, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah yeah, shut up." The man in front of him was what some would mistakenly call pretty, his hair and face had an almost womanly beauty to it, but the long well-muscled body attached was most assuredly male.

" _ **Allen? Allen what's wrong?"**_

His miles of black hair was pulled back in a tail at the top of his head, and Allen wondered where the suspenseful breeze was to let it snap in the wind, like in those movies and trash romance novels. Life was full of disappointments. He had something in his other hand, what was… ooh, handcuffs. 

"Not much for conversation are you?" Allen kept his hands where they could be seen, waiting, waiting. "I don't think you know how these meetings are supposed to go, love."

The man stayed silent, easing over to him.

Loose pants and a well-fitting shirt. No jacket, no bag, just an over the shoulder holster now empty of its weapon, a weapon sighted steadily on Allen. Did this merc have another peice? An inner pants holster? A man had a lot of places to hide a weapon on his body, he should know.

Who came up onto a rooftop after a thief with just a handgun? Honestly.

It was a little insulting.

The man was close enough to him to grab, the gun pulled in tight to his body. "I guess now you tie me up and taking to your leader? Mr. nameless evil minion." He tisked. He actually tisked. Allen had never heard someone do that in real life before. "Well. As much as I'd like to continue this interesting conversation, really I would, I have a previous engagement."

He kicked out, the gun fired, three rounds slamming into his chest and shoulder, jerking him backwards and stealing his breath, he used the momentum to spiral around and lash at the gun hand, sending it over the edge and into the bushes below.

" ** _Allen! I heard gunshots! Allen!_** "

"Little busy here!" He dodged a right arm swing and ran for the ledge.

"No you don't." the mercenary made a grab for his arm, but he bent and twisted into position and used his leverage to toss the man over his shoulder, he rolled right along with him, landing on top and giving a quick few jabs to the torso.

"Sorry, but I promised I would go straight home after work. We'll play later."

Leaving the man gasping he made his running leap from the building, barely managing to grab the ledge of the law firm on the other side. His shoulder screamed, the impact of the bullet on his brachial plexus may not have penetrated his coat, but they sure as hell would bruise, and it was his bad shoulder too. Damn it.

He hoped, desperately, that he hadn't cracked a rib.

As he pulled himself over the ledge his vision darkened, oh god please don't let him pass out. That would not be fun at all.

" ** _Allen, Allen are you alright?"_**

"Hey Johnny, guess what? I got to use the new coat you gave me."

" ** _DID YOU GET SHOT?!"_**

"It didn't penetrate, but I need to catch my breath. So can you wait up for me? I think I bruised a few ribs." He stood, and a glance over the shoulder showed his assailant recovering as well.

" ** _If you wore the chest plate I made you as well you wouldn't have that problem._** "

"One: it hinders my ability to bend; two: this is so not the time to be arguing about this. I need to get a little lost in these buildings. Give me a map?"

" ** _Routing a random path now. Can you make the leaps or do you want to stick with close quarters buildings._** "

"Give me some leaps. I'll walk it off." He took a few deep breaths and started to sprint.

**_"Don't pass out on me Allen. I'm three hours away, I can't come rescue you."_ **

"I'll be careful mum."

" ** _Should have warn the stupid chest plate."_**

"Hey, you never know when you need to do a backflip."

*

Kanda was in the mood for a chase, weeks of nothing, of guarding a still and silent museum filled with shriveled dead things had put him in an edgy, careless mood. It was why, when he had received the silent alarm from his employer, he had gone out to the roof with nothing but the gun at his side.

He was a man of action.

Now here he was, jumping from rooftops like the cops in a bad action movie.

"No use running." Kanda snarled, making the jump and landing hard on the balls if his feet. Rooftops were not as easily navigated as movies and superhero comics made them out to be, and he was absolutely not an urban street runner.

"I happen to find running very useful." The clown called in that amused tone, looking for all the world like he had just stepped out of a video game, or a Parkour commercial. Tucking himself he rolled sideways just as Kanda reached for him and the merc had to quickly adjust his footing with a skid to make the turn. Allen had already cleared the ledge on the other side of the building and was making his way up a fire escape.

"You're not getting away!" Kanda yelled enraged, and leapt the eight feet to follow.

The silver mask peaked back over the roof he had swung up on with a crooked grin, "That would be so much more convincing if you weren't two floors behind." He teased and Kanda knew the bastard was toying with him.

He was huffing when he pulled himself over the ledge and saw the white clad thief leaning leisurely against an air conditioner box a full building away. On the tar and gravel covered roof lay a heavy parchment card much like the one delivered two months ago announcing the Perriot's intentions, right where his face would be when he pulled himself up and impossible to miss. On it in elegant writing scribed "You look winded. Take a breather and we'll resume another night."

Scowling he heaved himself over and bolted for where the thief rested, the masked man kissed his fingertips and waived goodbye before disappearing over the next roof. By the time Kanda reached it there was nothing below but the night crowd and a trace of spiced scent.

He punched the concrete ledge and swore. "That Bastard!" he raged. "That motherfucking piece of shit! I'll kill him."

Below a few stories, settling in on a window seat was Allen Walker. His breath was heaving out and his lips curled at the yelling, breaking into a full grin when a neighbor threw open a window to shriek at Kanda to "shut the fuck up." The ensuing screaming match lasted a few moments before the mercenary presumably stormed off.

"Well that was fun," he said.

" ** _That was way too close. Please tell me you're actually home now."_**

Close, but oh so exciting. He knew full well he probably wouldn't have been so cocky if he hadn't disarmed the merc early on, but wasn't that true for all his heists? Regardless this chase had been exhilarating and he very much looked forward to the next one.

"You have me on the monitor don't you?"

**_"Confirm it for me. I need to hear your voice._** "

"I'm home and safe, mum, please don't worry."

**_"Thank God. Please no more risks. You were already hurt pretty bad last time."_ **

"And my shoulder, the same damn shoulder."

**_"Put some ice on it. Okay? Listen, I need to go. Send me what you gathered on this guard. I'll look into it."_ **

"Go, do the day job thing. Love you and goodnight." Allen lay still for a while. Taking stock of his little aches and pains. The burning in his chest had eased. Hopefully no broken rib. Yay for him.

With the fading of adrenaline and the slowing of his heart he became aware of certain other aspects of his body.

Namely, that he was hard.

Splayed out in exhaustion he stared down at himself with a furrowed brow. "Just what do you think is going to happen tonight?" He asked the tent in his costume pants incredulously.

Well, it wasn't the first time he got an erection in the excitement of a night. These jobs were just full of unplanable risks and dangers. He debated with himself a moment before deciding what the hell, he had a decent fantasy subject and he did have to wash this body paint off anyway.


	3. Hunka Hunka Burnin Muscle Cramps

Kanda did **not**  limp back to his post, but his pride may as well have. His muscles were humming with that loose, ropey ache of a long workout, yet there was nothing satisfying about this night's activities.

And to think, this job had started out so boring.

In the field, in the midst of battle, there were often times of quiet, of stillness, when he had to endure hours upon hours of doing nothing. Much of his job involved sitting or standing, and waiting. Waiting for a target to arrive, for an attack to commence, for orders to move to some other location where he would be told to wait some more. Chair or tree or down in some little hole, barely big enough to curl up in with his rifle, waiting until his prey came into his sights.

It wasn't anything _new_ to him. Most people would kill for a job that paid them lavishly to sit on their ass for hours upon hours.

He **had**  killed for such a job.

If his ass was plunked down in the wet and the filth, squatting fifty feet up, or currently painted with a neon fucking target because someone gave him shoddy information and the asshole he was forced to work with turned on him, and yes he was still fucking pissed at that, it was the job.

It was the only job he knew.

Though it was humiliating, he walked the long winding route on the streets back to the grand house and its immaculate gardens, in no shape to jump from roof to roof any longer, and that pissed him off almost as much as losing his target. Fucking urban runners. Fucking acrobats. Fucking hipsters. Why did everyone add dumbass frivolous styles to simple, good old fashioned fights?

If he hadn't been ordered to bring the masked moron in alive he would have shot his prancing little ass midway through his fancy twisting jumps. Outrun that you little shit. Who the fuck robs a place in white? Fucking asshole. Fucking street running. Fucking fence.

He kicked the elaborate wrought iron gates at the entrance of the absurdly extravagant building. Who the fuck wanted a glass dome ceiling? He was lucky rich people were so gaudy; "rob me" their décor screamed, protecting their ass was the source of most of his pay. As lucrative as war was, governments tended to hire established teams and their well-trained psychopaths. Kanda had long since ditched that scene, but everyone wanted **stuff** , they were obsessed with **stuff** , and they needed all these rooms to stuff that stuff  **in**. When you had rooms full of expensive stuff, there followed that others would want to take it.

Security was shit work, but it beat shooting through plywood shacks at impoverished rebels at the whim of some deranged head of state.

A quick snarling exchange over the intercom with the butler, _people still fucking had those_? and he was buzzed through the gates and stomped his way up the pretty white marble stairs and through the door, slamming it behind him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it out, a plain, simple grey satellite phone. "What?" none of his temper, his frustration, entered his voice. He was calm, he was controlled, he was a fucking professional.

"As you have not contacted me to inform me of the thief's capture I can only assume you failed." The voice was a rich cultured baritone, thick with accent and pompous arrogance.

The insult snapped through him, breaking his tenuously held patience. "If you hadn't ordered me after him before he entered the fucking building I wouldn't have had to chase him all over town, so shove that 'you failed' shit up your tight ass. You made the wrong call, you failed."

There was one of those moments of silence, a more imaginative person may have liked to think the stuck up bitch had to take a second to get over being so rudely spoken to. Kanda figured it was just to get on his fucking nerves. He had too short, too volatile a fuse to think anything else of others. Everything they did was crafted soley to fucking annoy him. It was the absolute extent of his empathy.

"He'll be back." Was all that was said and the call ended.

What a _fucking_  asshole.

It absolutely had not been his failure. He had had a plan, **he**  had known what his job was, and if that shitty little costumed freak had set foot in the building there would not have been any rooftop running or cocky banter tossed at him from a grinning mouth.

Up in the loft style second floor of the library he felt restless, and it had nothing to do with having nothing to do.

He could be off on some adventure, ass deep in trouble or neck deep in the swamps. He could be taking a plane to some far off country with blood feasting insects that put diseases in your body and little brown skinned children that put bullets in it after.

Unfortunately, the life of a hired soldier too often crossed with the more civilized world, if you could even call it that, and he had spent his fair share of time stone faced and silent in the company of the rich and arrogant.

Cash was cash, and the blood soaking it was no less red if it came from a CEO or weapons dealer. In his line of work he found those two often were one in the same.

At least if he were guarding some high bred socialite or setting in to take out the leader of a would be union he could find some action, or a purpose. No. he was here, stuck in one tiny room, with a servant a bell ring away, looking after wall after wall of withered bones and ancient taxidermy.

With an acrylic wall circling the room projecting a hologram of him pacing all over the damn place, as if he would be that fucking impatient. Sit down and close your eyes asshole, you're wasting energy.

He mimicked his prerecorded self and paced to one of the bookshelves, the stony bastard he took this job from was the type who kept books to impress those visiting, wall after wall of priceless antique first editions and big worded literature with uncracked spines and glass covered trinkets dividing them.

Look at that. An actual mummified monkey's fist, a shriveled piece of dead primate sat on a velvet cushion in a glass and wood box, and he had to make sure no one else would ever break in and steal it.

That there were people who even owned the thing was one thing, that some other equally insane person wanted to take it for their own just down right boggled the mind.

Humans were fucking weird. No wonder they wanted to kill each other all the damn time.

Death did his job well enough without people giving him the helping hand, but hand giving they did, in ignorance, in ancient grievances, petty quarrelsome leaders, skin color, culture, or even for calling some god by some different name.

Humans were kind of funny, and stupid, and self-destructive like that. Insane little vermin fighting over territories on the host they were slowly sucking dry.

He felt an itch between his shoulders and gave the place a good long sweep of his gaze. The second floor was difficult to see if you weren't looking for it, a portion of it extending over the bookcases, rimmed with statuary and exotic endangered plants that smelled of tropics, any person up here would certainly be hidden if they weren't right there on the edge. Which, as a _fucking proffessional_ , he knew better than to be.

Nothing, no sound, no movement, everything as it was, no one had come through the door, no one at the windows. He checked his phone, no call from the security system. Of course if it had been tripped the alert would have gone to his employer's mobile, his request to have access to the system had been angrily refused. The asshole didn't even have it set to contact the authorities. 

His instincts were humming like a plucked string.

Adrenaline.

He had **wanted**  that fight. Even knowing that, the fact that it had been done too soon, with the thief posed at the edge of the building with the entire fucking world to hide in instead of a sealed room in a high security building, infuriated him.

There would be no more battles tonight, at least. He knew, from the near limitless files he had on the Pierrot, that he only struck at night, and never more than once.

_**'We'll resume another night.'** _

Unbidden the words of that card slid through his brain. Digging it out of his pocket he scowled at it. Then violently ripped it to tiny pieces. Imagining it was the thief himself he was tearing apart.

*

The curtains in his bedroom swished open and early afternoon sun speared straight through the membranes of his lids into his eyes.

"Oh Christ, Jesus, save me." He threw an arm over his face and twisted away.

"Morning Allen." Johnny was in his room. So it must have been passed noon.

"I leased this flat specifically for the fact that it did not ever face the sun. How is there sun in my room? What sorcery is this?"

"I watched The Mummy on the flight over. Amazing what can be done with a few mirrors. Let's get a look at you." The smaller man stripped away the blankets with the skill of an expert parent. "Ouch. Allen, did you break anything?"

The object of scrutiny was naked to the waist in a pair of drawstring sleep trowsers, his bare chest and shoulder clearly displaying the freshly forming bruises from the previous night.

"Nothing that I can tell. Git unloaded five rounds in less than that many seconds. Bruised my ribs, and barely missed breaking my collarbone, but I did get hit in my bad shoulder. It's pretty tender."

"I'll say, you're lucky it didn't rip the muscles all over again, or the nerves, you've only just recovered. I told you not to go before I got here."

"And I didn't," Allen sat up, ignoring the sudden vertigo and need to vomit, "but who was the one who took an extra day? We had planned last night all week. Besides, he only got three in me. At me. On me. Whatever." He waived it off. "He landed three. Do I smell coffee?"

"What was it you said?" Johnny asked in his not quite mocking-you voice, reaching for the mug he had set on the bedside table. "How you didn't need any body armor, how the coat would just get in the way?" He handed Allen the cup with a grin.

"Oh shove off, I said I liked the damn thing didn't I?" Allen swung his legs over the side and tested his feet on the cold stone tile of the floor. "Tell me you got breakfast? I'm starved."

"How long have I been working with you?"

"For, Johnny, you work for me, you always seem to forget that little fact."

"Details. Drink your coffee. I'll go see what you have in the fridge. Then you can tell me all about your sexscapade with your mercenary hunk."

"Don't say 'hunk', Johnny. Jesus, are you 16?"

"Oh, just get up. Drink your coffee, take a shower, feel human."

"On it." He limped towards the bathroom, head bowed over his mug.

One of the things he had to do while in the shower was go over the previous night in his head, again, and figure out how the hell the hunky mercenary could have gotten from the library slash trophy room two stories down with no roof access to the roof it had no access **to**  in the nine seconds it too **him**  to move from the skylight to the edge of the building.

It couldn't have been someone else, Allen had gotten a good enough look at his face, and gorgeous just didn't come in those colors twice. An identical twin was equally improbably, seeing as he hadn't yet found himself living in a comic book.

He could, and had last night, brainstormed every imaginative scenario, all improbable and impossible. This morning under the hot spray he flipped through each and every one in his mind but found his imagination blocked by simple, stupid sense.

It just wasn't possible when one nixed the express lift and futuristic teleportation explanations.

It was hard on a man's pride, but he admitted he was stumped. Yanking on a fresh pair of jeans he swiped a frustrated hand across the mirror and watched himself as he ran a comb through his hair. It wasn't what he had worn last night, though it shared in color. His natural hair was shorter than the wig, as it had the annoying tendency to curl after a certain length. He had an oval face that had taken a teenager's eternity to lose it's baby fat, currently angled with strong bones and dominated with long, wide eyes the color of polished silver, or good hard stone depending on his mood; they would dominate, that is, if one retracted the long, jagged scar running from hairline to chin, topped like a satanic Christmas tree with an inverted star.

Aside from being downright ugly, it made shaving a bitch.

His skin, currently flushed from the shower, was only shades away from the stark white of the thief's facepaint and blessed with a porcelain doll's airbrushed teacup rose on his cheeks. It made him look delicate, a deception he wasn't above exploiting. He was competent, skilled, downright fucking untraceable. He may have been outwitted, somehow, in the hide and peek attempt, but he could assure himself he still had the leg up on the -ha ha- leg work.

He would have to chew at it, stew on it, worry it like a penny in his pocket, but he'd figure it out, he always did. This irritating setback would only make it more difficult, and thus fun, for him.

Satisfied with his internal pep-talk he walked back into the room now perfumed with the smells of breakfast.

The apartment was studio style, though the kitchen was divided off with a long white counter, where Johnny chopped potatoes to the tune of Italian radio.

He could see the back of Johnny's head, all wild curling hair fought into a tail at his kneck. He was a boney thing, where Allen was lithe and well-toned Johnny was stick thin and twig brittle. He was older, but much shorter than Allen, and less inclined to activities of athleticism. He turned and smiled, his eyes comically large behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. "Hey, breakfast will be done in a few minutes. Just need to finish the potatoes."

"Sure." He was starved. However much Italians claimed to love cuisine they knew dick all about a hearty breakfast. 

"So tell me about last night?"

"Sure. Give me a moment?" He slid into prayer position. A few minutes to himself would be enough to clear the clutter out of his head, the speculations, the impressions, until the memory sharpened into a crisp picture. With a grace Johnny envied he moved into basic sun.

Last night was crafted with the idea of risk in mind. They knew their target would likely react instantaneously, they could have had minutes to seconds to recon, but that had been acceptable. So long as Allen had caught even a passing glance at the single man security the event would have been successful.

He felt the burn of his muscles as they moved, not just his shoulder but various other abused areas, his knees when he had flipped the mercenary and landed on top, his back from the commando roll, his arms from scaling the buildings.

In Dog Down he felt everything pulse through him in one solid ache; it beat like a heart, burned like a good whiskey, and brought everything in his head to one clear focal point.

"Food's done." Johnny called.

"Done here too." Allen said, back in his base pose. He let the pain, the burn, the quiet misery of his body ooze out of him and back into their dull solitary aches.

His limbs now loose and warmed he slid fluidly into a chair at the counter where Johnny had spooned eggs, sausages, and potatoes onto a plate in large portions. His Brittish heart wept in gratitude. "Thankyou," he forked up some eggs, "makes up for everything."

"Well I'm happy about that. Sorry for the rude wake up, but you're grouchy after a mission."

"Hmm." He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "So what did we find about our mystery mercenary?"

"You mean your fit bloke?"

"Please." Allen grimaced. "Don't hold me to what I say in uniform.

"Can't help it." Johnny slid onto a stool next to him, "It's a post mission reflex. I don't know what face you're wearing."

"Currently none." Johnny was a joy, both as a friend and an informant, but there were times Allen regretted letting him get so close. He toyed with the idea of slipping into Allen Walker. It was Johnny's favorite mask, it seemed to be everyone's favorite mask, and he could usually handle things better under that particular skin. Instead he downed the last of his coffee and poured himself another cup. "I still don't understand how he got to the roof."

"The blueprints don't show any roof access for that room, but it's not unusual for a homeowner to make changes without updating the records. Avoid all those permits and fees."

"True, but even with roof access added to the room, there's no way he could make it up from the ground floor in the timespan. I saw him Johnny. Pacing like a caged cat in that room. I turn away to run, and he's there behind me. He can't fly, because that's impossible, so how?"

"I don't know. But I'll look into it. Did you get a good look at his face?"

"Oh yeah. Up close and personal, when he was trying to handcuff me."

"I bet the Joker liked that."

Allen sniffed. "I will not discuss that particular individual's prurient thoughts." He stated it in a prim, superior voice with his nose in the air, but the grin fish hooked at the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Nor will I discuss his vivid erotic dreams last night."

"Really." Johnny's smile was as wide as his glasses. "Erotic dreams?"

"I said I won't speak of them, in minute detail, nor their X-rated nature. Though I endured them."

"I'll bet." He rested his head in his palm and grinned. "Was this sex fantasy mercenary any good."

"Blinding." He reached over into the folders near the land line telephone and tugged his tablet PC out of the stack. "With a superior face. I should know, as I was unwillingly present during said libidinous dreams."

"Well." Johnny said as way of comment, looking at the image on screen. It wasn't a sketch. Allen was skilled in many arts, but line and form was not one of them. Instead there was an image from the miniature camera attached to the Pierrot's silver mask. A man, dressed simplistically in black, with gun drawn and sighted in one hand and the broken oval of restraints in the other. He had a long face with sharp angles, he was of Asian descent, with slanted eyes, a long nose, and full lipped mouth. His face had a feminine look to it, though it was currently hardened into an irritated, dangerous scowl.

"I have more images, from the chase and the fight, most of them partials; I can tell you that he has a high forehead under all that fringe and blue eyes."

"This is good. Can put this into the program and run a scan. We'll probably have thousands of probables."

"Pretty isn't he? Like, girl pretty."

"You," Johnny poked him, "are in no position to talk."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm 'boyish, and I'm growing out of it."

"Uh, huh, sure you are. That's why you wear makeup." Johnny got up and started digging around in his duffel bag for his laptop.

"Costume makeup! It's facepaint." Allen pointed at his face, "I have a scar, a ruggedly handsome masculine scar, that I need to hide."

"I believe you." His tone was a very mocking way of saying his obviously didn't.


End file.
